Bleeding Hearts
by Crystai
Summary: Aramis made a terrible mistake which cost him dear. After bitter words are spoken the marksman finds himself in mortal danger - Can Porthos and his brother musketeers save him in time? Do they even want to? Will love prevail or have the days of all for one and one for all finally come to an end? Warnings: Slash, torture and non-con. If you don't like then please don't read.
1. Bitter Words

"Porthos, please just hear me out" Following his lover into his room at the garrison Aramis shut the door behind him.

"And why would I do that then? Give me one good reason why I should Aramis" Porthos leant against the fire place, dark eyes staring into the flames. His proud heart was breaking, how could Aramis have been so foolish, so reckless and so unbelievably selfish.

"Because I love you" the words hung there in the silence a moment before a bitter laugh bubbled out of the larger musketeer's mouth.

"You have a funny way of showing it"

"Porthos-"

"No" Porthos turned, "do you have any idea of what you've done? The queen Aramis? What I wasn't good enough for you?"

A wounded look flashed across Aramis's face, "That's not –" But Porthos was not done he strode across the room and in two strides took hold of the Spaniard by his shirt front.

"Why Aramis, WHY!?"

"I don't know! Please Porthos … I don't know why I did it, she was just so lonely and I didn't know how you, I wasn't sure –"

"You wasn't sure of what?"

"Of your feelings for me"

Porthos released him with a sound of disgust, "and you couldn't have waited to find out?"

"I'm sorry Porthos, please I'm begging you to forgive me – I would never do it again with her or any other … there's only you in my heart,"

"Get out"

"Porthos?"

"Get out Aramis" Porthos growled again

"But Porthos" And then the bigger man snapped, grabbing Aramis and slamming him against the nearest wall, keeping him pinned there.

"I said get out! I want you out of my room and out of my life … love?" Porthos sneered, "what would a common little whore like you know about love. You make me sick – I can't stand to look at you! Now GET OUT!"

Pulling back so he could shove Aramis in the direction of the door Porthos turned back to the fire refusing to even look in the other man's direction but once he heard the door click shut he dropped his head into his hands and softly cried.

Aramis meanwhile stood staring at the door in the vain hope that Porthos might reconsider and call him back. What a fool he'd been! Mentally he cursed himself for his folly. He'd been impulsive acting out of grief and loneliness and now he was paying the price for it but worst of all he had hurt Porthos, who had been his closest friend long before he had been his lover and that knowledge cut like a knife. Resting his forehead against the cool wood Aramis closed his eyes, "I'm sorry ... so sorry" how he wished he could just walk in there and take Porthos in his arms and kiss all the pain away, but hearts didn't work that way.

Taking a shaky breath Aramis forced himself to draw back from the door and made himself walk away, discreetly wiping tear stained cheeks with the back of his hand.


	2. Athos

Athos watched his brothers, noting the tension in Porthos's broad shoulders and the dark circles under Aramis's eyes. Obviously, all was not well between them and the tension at the breakfast table was almost tangible, when Aramis approached and took his usual seat Porthos rose and left without a word.

The Captain could feel D'Artagnan's eyes on him and he didn't need to see them to know that they'd be looking at him questioningly as though he might produce an answer for their friend's odd behaviour.

"D'Artagnan, I think Porthos might need some help in the stable" he gave the youngest of their group a pointed look. Waiting a pause after the Gascon left he turned his attention back to Aramis.

"So what happened?" Tone cool as always Athos took another spoon full of porridge whilst he waited expectantly.

"What do you mean?" Aramis replied tone too jovial so it sounded forced.

"Aramis…"

The marksman sighed, "He knows"

"About the queen?"

"Yes"

"You told him?"

The silence spoke volumes, "I see" the silenced stretched on between them as Athos ate and Aramis just pushed his spoon round his bowl.

"At least he found out from you and not through a third party" grey eyes watched the younger musketeer, "he will come around" Athos assured him, sounding more confident than he felt.

"Will he?" Aramis shook his head, "I am not so sure."

Athos hated seeing his brother suffer like this but really what had Aramis expected? Actions had consequences and his flirtatious ways were bound to catch up with him some day.

"Porthos loves you, but he has a right to be angry … give him time and space to come to terms with it. What's done is done and cannot be changed but there is hope for you yet mon ami."

Aramis offered him half a smile as Athos rose and patted him on the shoulder before leaving. Looking into the contents of the bowl Aramis pushed it away with a sigh, he could not stomach food right now not when his heart was in such turmoil. Rising he fixed on his hat before striding out into the courtyard.

The others were already mounted and Porthos set off before Aramis had even swung into his saddle, ignoring the confused look D'Artagnan was shooting him he focused on the road ahead, urging his own horse on. Hooves clattering over the cobbled ground the inseperables left the garrison in a cloud of dust behind them.


	3. D'Artagnan

Their task was to accompany the wagon laden with gifts for king Louis sister in England to the port in Calais. It should have been a fairly pleasant ride, a welcome break from being cooped up in Paris. Instead the venture was marred by the tension between Porthos and Aramis, who instead of riding side by side as normal were instead at opposite ends of the procession with Athos and D'Artagnan situated awkwardly between them. Calais was more than a day's ride and if the atmosphere felt uncomfortable so soon after leaving Paris then Athos did not want to dwell on how things might be by the time they finally reached their destination, not to mention that there was then the return journey to factor in.

"What's the matter with them?" D'Artagnan asked in earnest, he'd never known Aramis and Porthos to quarrel before.

"It is a private matter – but I am sure Aramis would appreciate your company"

D'Artagnan sighed from the lack of explanation but he understood an instruction when he heard one no matter how thinly veiled. With a nod, he dropped back to ride alongside Aramis whilst Athos urged his horse on to catch up to Porthos.

"Is everything alright?"

Aramis smirked, tactless as ever D'Artagnan could be counted on to get straight to the heart of the matter.

"Why wouldn't it be?"

"You and Porthos … have you quarrelled?"

Aramis sighed, "I suppose you could say that"

D'Artagnan considered him for a moment, he would not ask for more details instead casting his friend a sympathetic look, "I am sure that whatever it is will soon pass … What you and Porthos have, I do not think could be put aside lightly."

"Thank you mon ami" Aramis gave his brother a fond smile before allowing himself to sigh, "but I am not so sure … I, I have made a terrible mistake"

D'Artagnan's eyes narrowed slightly, he had a suspicion but he would see what the marksman had to say for himself first. "What did you do?" he prompted almost warily.

"I laid with another"

"Aramis!" D'Artagnan groaned, "but why?"

"Oh, I don't know … I honestly don't. She was just there –" Aramis dare not admit just who 'she' was not even to D'Artagnan although he would most likely hear about it soon enough from either Athos or Porthos, "I have never met anyone like her before, she was so beautiful but also so very sad and I too was feeling grief … we found comfort in each other's arms"

"And bed" D'Artagnan chided.

"And bed – but, I did not know then about the depth of Porthos's feelings. I had thought that I was alone in my affections, if I had then I swear I would not have done it and on my honour D'Artagnan I swear that it will never happen again … I just hope that Porthos gives me one more chance to prove that to him"

D'Artagnan looked long and hard at his friend, it was no wonder that Porthos was upset but looking at the misery in those dark eyes and the way Aramis stared forlornly ahead to where Athos and Porthos were riding side by side, the youngest musketeer couldn't help but feel sorry for him, and despite not being a betting man he would wager that Aramis had learned his lesson and would never do something so foolish again – especially now he had the surety of knowing where he stood in the other man's affections.

"You should talk to him when we make camp"

"Athos said I should give him space"

"Hm, I can see the wisdom in that but you don't want to give him too much space that you can't reach him" D'Artagnan was silent for a moment considering, before giving a light shrug "but it is you that knows him best Aramis, you must do what your heart tells you"

Aramis nodded and smiled softly, "thank you D'Artagnan"

"Don't thank me – what are friends for?" he leaned across and patted his brother's shoulder.

"All for one"

"And one for all"

Both men smiled brightly at the other, some of the tension eased even if only for a short while.


	4. Porthos

Porthos shifted uncomfortably in the saddle. What a ball ache it was, hot, tedious and slow; they'd only just left Paris and already he missed the city. If only Aramis were beside him to make one of his terrible jokes or to distract him with one of his wild stories. Porthos frowned, no! He refused to miss him – Aramis had made his bed and now he could lie in it. He was still scowling when Athos rode up beside him.

"Is something the matter?"

"No" Came the surly response, from behind them laughter erupted from D'Artagnan and Porthos's scowl deepened, clearly the Pup must be laughing at some witty remark from Aramis.

"They seem happy" Porthos huffed not even looking over his shoulder at the younger musketeers.

"Shouldn't they be?"

Porthos shot Athos a quick look before looking away, not sure of how to answer that.

The Captain sighed.

"Porthos" Athos hoped to broach the subject gently but much like D'Artagnan he wasn't the best at not jumping to the heart of the matter. "Aramis made a mistake"

"He told you then?"

Athos nodded.

"That doesn't surprise me – never could keep a secret, unless it's from me of course"

Grey eyes widened slightly at the vehemence in that tone, "Is that how you really feel?"

Porthos sighed and was about to answer that's exactly how he felt but then his broad shoulders sagged, "No … but why did he have to do it Athos. And with her? I told him, I bloody told him she ain't a woman she's the queen" he lowered his voice even further, "its treason – if anyone were to find out then he'll be hung."

"I know"

"But why'd he do it" Porthos continued much as Athos knew he would, "wasn't I enough for him?"

Athos sighed, "I don't think it's a question of whether you were enough for him, you have always been and most assuredly always will be more than enough for Aramis, but I think in this instance it was a case of if he was enough for you"

"Eh?"

"What Aramis did was wrong and I don't condone his actions, but the situation between you was different then, less certain. I strongly believe that had Aramis known you returned his feelings then he would have never laid with the queen. But at the time he was hurting – he had just lost Isabelle"

"Another old love he never told me about"

Athos continued as though he hadn't heard, "And you know how he hates to sleep alone especially when he's upset, ever since- "

"Savoy" Both men winced at the word alone, so many good men dead and how easily Aramis could have been amongst them.

A moment of silence stretched out between them as both men rode along together, each lost in their own thoughts, until Porthos heaved a resigned sigh.

"I'm just so angry with him … and disappointed"

Athos nodded, "that is understandable mon ami" the Captain considered his friend for a moment, "do you think you can forgive him?"

"I don't know…"

"Do you still love him?"

"Of course!"

"Then ask yourself this Porthos, if you continue down this road then what do you want the outcome to be? If you love Aramis and Aramis loves you then perhaps you should talk to him … what Aramis did was incredibly stupid and his actions are deserving of your anger but ultimately what is more important to you, your pride or your relationship?"

Porthos did not answer but he looked on his brother and smiled, nodding his head which elicited a half smile from Athos he leant across to clap his shoulder fondly.

Now that the horses were warmed up it was time to pick up the pace and with a quick call over his shoulder and a flick of his wrist Athos led the others in a steady canter, the sound of numerous hooves beating across the earth like thunder.


	5. Firewood

Despite taking various breaks throughout the day to rest the horses, the call to set up camp did not come until late in the evening when the dying light forced the party to come to a complete stop.

Aramis swung down from the saddle, briefly scratching his horse's neck before moving to untack the tired gelding. He was aware of his brothers moving around him along with the two guardians, Lumiere and Abel who had been chosen to accompany the royal gifts all the way to England and to convey a message from Louis to his sister. The marksman was glad that his part in this venture would only take him as far as Calais. Which was no short distance in itself.

Quickly and efficiently a camp sprung up around the men, a warm fire at its heart.

"Porthos" Athos called the giant over, "I think it would be wise to gather more firewood now while we still have the light to see, do you not think so?"

Porthos nodded, "Aye, I'll take D'Artagnan and- "

"I need D'Artagnan here"

"I could go" Aramis interjected from where he'd been discreetly eaves dropping, "I can help you with the firewood"

All eyes fell to Porthos who looked back and forth between Aramis and Athos, sensing a trap he was unable to avoid the musketeer sighed, "fine"

Athos smiled and Porthos rolled his eyes at him before turning on his heel and stomping away, calling over his shoulder to Aramis, "well come on then, I aint gonna wait around for you"

Aramis and Athos shared a look, and the marksman bowed his head in silent thanks and acknowledgement of the opportunity to be alone with Porthos that his Captain had provided, before hurried after his former lover.

Soon both men were enveloped by the trees, finally alone once more.

"Porthos…" Aramis began somewhat hesitantly, "will you speak with me?"

"What is there to talk about?" came the gruff reply, Porthos didn't want to talk, he wanted to focus on gathering up the firewood as quickly as possible so he could return to camp and continue studiously ignoring his current companion.

Aramis stilled, feeling his own frustration beginning to surface. "I'm sorry … sorrier than you'll ever know … Porthos please, I don't know what else I can say – but I would do anything to make things right again. I'm so sorry that I've hurt you – "

"What you've done is treason Aramis – they could hang you for this!"

"Perhaps you think I'd deserve it …"

"Perhaps I do" both men stared at each other before Porthos had to look away, why had he said that? That wasn't what he felt, not really. Still a drowning man will take others down with him and Porthos's hurt had made him vicious.

Aramis swallowed, that had stung but still he pressed on unwilling to give up. "Please tell me that you can forgive me mon amour"

Porthos heart constricted at those words, of course he could! This rift between them had gone on long enough, in fact perhaps he should just drop these stupid sticks and close the distance between them until Aramis was in his arms again.

Instead he found himself saying, "I don't know Mis, I really don't"

Aramis could only swallow and nod, oh how his heart ached.

"Look, I'm gonna take this back to camp – you comin or you staying here?"

"I'll stay a while longer"

Porthos nodded, for a moment he stared at Aramis he could see the man's remorse it dripped from every pore but still he couldn't bring himself to relinquish his anger. He would forgive Aramis but perhaps it would teach the other a man a lesson to let him stew a bit first.

Conflicted he turned and made his way back to camp; if he was in the right then why did his actions feel so wrong?

Aramis watched Porthos leave wishing he knew the right words to make him stay. In an attempt to distract himself from the weight on his heart Aramis began collecting firewood in earnest drifting further and further from camp. But he found solace in the silence and comfort in the earthy scent of the forest. Perhaps if he'd been less distracted with troubling thoughts his senses might have alerted him sooner to the danger that was approaching him from behind, by the time he heard the twig snap it was too late.

Turning Aramis was met with a hard blow from the butt of a musket and the world went black.


	6. Ambush!

Athos watched Porthos as he stacked the firewood neatly in a pile, close enough to the fire to be easily obtained but far enough from the bright flames that it would not catch on fire from a flying spark. There was no sign of Aramis which did not bode well. Athos could only surmise that their time alone had not gone well. With a sigh, he turned away just as Porthos was about to settle for a game of cards with D'Artagnan, turning to Lumiere and Abel to discuss the plans for the following day Athos had just opened his mouth to broach the subject when a shot tore through the air and Abel crumpled to the ground, a thin rivulet of blood trickled down his temple from the bullet wound.

"Ambush!" Athos cried, whilst grabbing Lumiere and dragging him behind the gift laden cart.

D'Artagnan moved fast firing a shot himself at the first flicker of movement from deeper within the trees, smiling when he saw an enemy body drop to the floor. Porthos grabbed their youngest by his shoulders and bodily hauled him back in to the cover of the trees behind them.

"How many" he growled whilst cocking his own pistol.

"It's difficult to say but I saw five"

"And shot one"

"So, four?"

A shot to their left from Athos made Porthos grin, "make that three."

A cry of rage and two men came barrelling out of the trees covered by one who remained in the treeline. D'Artagnan had already drawn his sword and darted forward to meet them with Porthos hot on his heels. Athos focused his attention on the man in the trees, whilst also making sure to keep Lumiere down and out of harm's way.

The young Gascon was more than a match for the bandit, he moved with swift almost graceful steps in a dizzying dance of death, unlike Porthos who attacked aggressively an exhausting onslaught of relentless strikes. The musketeer's swords cut through their opponent's bodies like butter and the man in the trees fled before their corpses even hit the ground.

"Are either of you hurt?" Athos was by their side immediately.

Porthos shook his head but it was D'Artagnan who answered, "No … and you?"

"I'm fine … unfortunately Abel was not so lucky" the three musketeers grimaced as they looked on the fresh body of one of their own. Brown eyes quickly flicked over all of them before D'Artagnan frowned, "where's Aramis?"

The effect was immediate, all heads turned to look about them.

"Aramis!" Porthos bellowed, ice creeping into his veins freezing his heart. Where was he? Looking for the familiar mop of unruly dark curls Porthos strode closer to the trees he had not long since returned from earlier, "ARAMIS!" Nothing but echoing silence answered.

"Stay with the cart and Lumiere" Athos instructed the young musketeer before hurrying after Porthos who had taken off into the trees without even giving Athos chance to look at the bodies of their enemies for some clue as to their identities.

"Aramis!" Both men called in the futile hope that through sheer force of will alone they could make their friend reappear.

It didn't take them long to find the bundle of sticks that Aramis had been collecting, but there was no sign of the musketeer.

"Aramis … ARAMIS!" Porthos called eyes wild and tone becoming frantic. "Where is he Athos?"

Gone was not a suitable answer and neither was it accurate, people did not just disappear – if Aramis was not here and seen as he obviously hadn't vanished into thin air then there was only one logical solution.

"He's been taken" Mouth set in a grim line Athos tugged once on Porthos's arm, "come, we must return to camp"

"Aramis!"

"Porthos!" Athos snapped, "We must get back to D'Artagnan, the sooner we examine the bodies the sooner we might know just who we're dealing with." He turned then and marched off in the direction of camp but behind the cool façade Athos was in turmoil. Someone had Aramis, someone could be hurting their brother – Athos growled; he would move heaven and earth to find him again.

Porthos looked around him in bewilderment, someone had taken Aramis, _HIS_ Aramis … and there would be hell to pay for it. Dragging himself away from the last evidence of the marksman's presence Porthos followed after his Captain, muttering a desperate prayer hoping that the God Aramis so fervently believed in would protect the dashing musketeer until he could hold him in his arms again. Oh please God do not let those ugly words be their last exchange – Porthos would never forgive himself if they were.

* * *

Author's note: Hi this is my first musketeer's fic, I apologise for any historical inaccuracies but I hope you're all enjoying it so far. Reviews are always welcome - but no hate thank you. :)


	7. Aramis

Pain, incessant and throbbing was the first thing Aramis was aware of as he slowly regained consciousness, the pounding in his head seemed relentless. A soft groan escaped him although it would take the musketeer a few moments to realise that that sound came from him. Ebony eyelashes fluttered open making him wince, what had happened?

At first the world was a blur but eventually it swam into focus. Raising his head from his chest he looked round in confusion; where was he? Instinctively he moved to rub his face but found his hands restrained behind his back. Slowly his mind began to piece together what had happened; he'd been collecting firewood with Porthos, no not with Porthos – Porthos had gone, he was alone. A blunt instrument – a musket, had hit him in the face and now … now he was clearly a captive of some kind but for what purpose and just whose captive he was Aramis did not yet know.

Looking around him Aramis grimaced, he was in a cell of some kind judging by the darkness he was clearly underground; looking at the only exit and entrance to his cell, a heavy wooden door, he found himself wondering what lay beyond. Most likely he was in a dungeon, which meant he was either being held beneath a castle or under ruins – because who else had a dungeon beneath their home?

Automatically his mind went to Porthos and his brothers, what had happened to them? Were they safe? Had they been taken captive too? Looking at his feet it was a relief to see that they at least weren't bound together like his wrists. Swivelling onto his knees he managed to rise to stand on unsteady feet. It became apparent quickly that his shackled wrists were also attached to a chain. Testing the length, he was frustrated to find that it barely extended far off the wall, giving him only enough room to either sit or stand.

Looking down at himself he took a mental inventory of what was missing, his hat, weapons, coat and boots had all been stripped, leaving him only in his shirt and breeches. Staring down at exposed toes made him feel oddly vulnerable, how hard had he been hit to sleep through that?

Alone in the darkness he shivered, it was cold in the cell and the stone walls were damp. It was a grim place that unsettled the musketeer greatly. Again, Aramis found his mind turning to Porthos, thinking back on nights spent laughing in the tavern … and on nights spent warm in each other's embrace. Nights spent safe against Porthos's side, head resting on that strong chest listening to the rhythmic beating of his heart was one of Aramis's favourite places to be. The memories gave him comfort and bolstered his courage; no matter who or what came through that door Aramis would face it and he'd find a way to escape because that conversation with Porthos in the forest could not be their last.

He had wronged him and Aramis was determined to make amends and to heal the hurt he'd caused. Aramis loved Porthos with all his heart and would not rest until his lover knew that. The sound of a key turning in the lock drew his attention, straightening he raised his chin defiantly. He was a musketeer and he would face whatever came through that door with the courage befitting of his station. The door swung open, spilling light into the dark cell and Aramis steeled himself for what was to come.

* * *

Author's note: I'd just like to thank faldo and SilverFalcon4 for their reviews - your support is much appreciated and thank you for taking the time to review - I'm glad you're enjoying the story so far and hope you enjoy all that is still to come :)

Also thank you to everyone who has added this to their favourites/ follow list - I am beyond flattered and it has given me so much motivation :)


	8. First Blood

"Awake at last" The blonde sneered as he stepped into the cell followed closely by two men. "So, what do we have here hm?"

Blue eyes, piercing and cold looked Aramis over before the blonde took a step closer, "a musketeer no less, do you know what we do with musketeers?" Behind him the two men smiled darkly.

"No, but I'm sure you're going to enlighten me" Aramis responded his tone bored, before crinkling his nose in distaste and turning his head away "although perhaps you could tell me from over there … I presume no one ever told you that cleanliness is next to godliness, or so they say." The broad-shouldered man in front of him stank of stale sweat, horse and days old ale; his face darkened at the insult.

"King's dog!" he snarled before grabbing Aramis by the front of his shirt with one hand and pulling him close, "we break them!" and with that he punched the marksman hard enough to drive the air from his lungs as he doubled over, gasping in pain from the sudden impact. Pulling him upright again he smiled, "What was in the wagon?" The blonde demanded, "must have been important to warrant an escort and from the king's men no less."

Aramis gritted his teeth, meeting his captor's gaze steadily before answering, "cabbages"

Silence.

"Cabbages?"

"Well it might not have been cabbages, I can't say that I've actually looked but- "

The blonde growled giving Aramis a small shake, "You think this is funny musketeer!?"

Aramis simply smirked slow and deliberate in response.

"Bale, Demonte" the blonde growled, whilst taking a step back, "show our friend here just how funny we think his little joke was."

Pain swiftly followed as Bale and Demonte stepped forward, a fist connected with Aramis's jaw before strong hands seized hold of his shoulders, keeping him upright whilst the other delivered two hard blows to his gut before he was unceremoniously pushed to his knees, a sharp back hand across his face knocked the bound musketeer sideways to the floor.

As Aramis lay panting on the floor, unable to curl in on himself with his hands tied behind his back the Blonde waited for Bale and Demonte to step back, before crouching in front of their captive.

"I'll ask again what was in the wagon? Gold? Jewels? What?"

Stubborn as always Aramis wasn't about to betray his duty, his brothers … he looked up at the man, bracing himself for the consequences of his words.

"Go to hell"

With a sigh, the blonde rose to his feet, he turned as if to leave before turning back to the downed musketeer letting his foot fly, connecting with Aramis's stomach in a vicious kick. One, two, three kicks … delighting in the pained groans the blonde only stopped when a hand touched his shoulder.

"Dior…" Bale warned, knowing how easily his friend could lose himself to dolling out violence.

Dior nodded and drew back, spitting on the floor he sneered down at Aramis, "be seeing you later dog," with a dark chuckle he turned on his heel and left with Bale and Demonte hot on his heels. Leaving a beaten Aramis to cough up blood on the floor.


	9. The devil himself

Philippe lolled back in the high back chair, leg casually hanging over the arm whilst he devoured a greasy chicken leg, tossing the bone over his shoulder. Belching he wiped his mouth with the back of his gloved hand. Black eyes narrowed at Dior, Bale and Dermonte as they slunk into what had once been a grand hall like whipped dogs.

"So?" He barked, "What did the musketeer have to say? Is it gold? Rubies? Diamonds? What?"

Dior coughed nervously, "We … er, we don't know yet Philippe-"

"My lord!" Philippe corrected quickly, determined to get his men to start treating him with the deference he deserved.

"My lord" Dior quickly amended head bowed.

"So, you have failed me – you have learned nothing. Idiots! I'm surrounded by idiots!"

"My lord," Bale began, "Dior gave him a pasting he won't soon forget – he can't hide behind humour forever-"

"Humour?"

"He told us the cart contained cabbages my lord"

Philippe's lips momentarily curved up into an amused smirk, "So we have a jester in our midst, I think I will see this musketeer for myself – if he will not break the easy way then we must break him the hard way," The smile darkened. "Gaston, Theo!"

From out of the shadows behind him materialised two grizzled looking thugs, "Prepare the area – you know what to do" The pair offered feral smiles which made Dior and his companions want to shiver.

"As for you three" Philippe sneered, "Bring me the musketeer, surely even you three can manage that."

"Yes my lord" With a bow of their heads the trio strode back underground to the remnants of what had once been vast dungeons.

* * *

Aramis lay where he had been left trying to ignore the pounding in his head and the waves of nausea that rocked him, everything hurt. Closing his eyes the musketeer focused on his breathing, on simply breathing through the pain till it subsided enough for him to struggle to a seated position. Leaning back against the wall behind him Aramis contemplated his options, wondering what his chances were at escape.

Again his mind wandered back to thoughts of his brothers; were they here? Were they alright? Was Porthos … No! Of course Porthos was still living, Aramis would accept no other alternative. The door to his prison opened and the Spaniard braced himself, glowering darkly at the blonde who had caused him so much pain.

"On your feet!" Dior snapped, not that he waited for Aramis to comply, Bale and Dermonte were by his side hoisting the king's soldier to his feet. The chain attached to his shackles were removed and the marksman quickly realised that they were preparing to move him, but any hope he had of hopefully being able to memorise his surroundings and look for signs of his brothers were soon dashed as a black hood was pulled down over his head rendering him blind.

Fingers dug into his arms hard enough to leave bruises and poor Aramis had no choice but to stagger blindly along with his captor's firm guidance. He tried to remember the pattern of sharp twists to the left or right and the number of stairways he was hauled up but the lack of sight and pounding in his head made that hard.

Without warning he was pushed to his knees before the hood was roughly removed. Ruins then, his mind noted as his eyes told him that he was in what had once been the great hall of some forgotten castle. Whilst there was still a ceiling the windows were long gone and ivy grew through the stone frames. Outside there was nothing but darkness indicating that it could be the middle of the night or the small hours of the morning.

After the quick sweep of his surroundings Aramis's dark eyes came to rest on the figure of a man who reclined in his chair watching him with snakelike eyes. The musketeer took in Philippe's silver streaked hair and black beard, the powerful build and posture that clearly marked him as the bandit's leader. The look in those strange eyes was not a friendly one despite the smile and Aramis felt a chill creep up his spine.


	10. What is in a name?

Athos reached camp with Porthos hot on his heels, before they had even left the treeline D'Artagnan was already hurrying over to them.

"Did you find him?" a futile question but one the youngest musketeer couldn't help but ask regardless. Athos shook his head and the Gascon nodded, glancing briefly at Porthos D'Artagnan shared a concerned look with Athos; Porthos might have been present in body but seemed vacant otherwise, though wherever his thoughts had wandered it must have been a dark place for there was a murderous glint in his dark eyes that set D'Artagnan's teeth on edge.

"Well I have news,"

Both Athos and Porthos stared at him expectantly.

"One of the bandits still lives,"

"Where?" Porthos growled.

"He's with Lumiere," Porthos did not wait to hear further before striding in the direction of the cart; he'd make the bastard talk, he had to with Sal's life potentially on the line.

Athos shared a look with D'Artagnan before they fell into step beside their brother.

Porthos swept past Lumiere, his shoulders squared and body language tense, "So.." he grabbed the bleeding man by his shirt front, hoisting him up from the floor and slamming him back against the wagon. Athos and D'Artagnan were hovering nearby but he ignored them - they didnt have time for politics. "Stomach wound-" he poked a finger in the bullet hole making the bandit yelp and squirm, "nasty, slow way to die," he pressed against the wound secretly relishing the laboured breaths and beads of sweat that spoke volumes about their enemies declining condition

"But you tell me who sent you and why an I can ease your passing … you dont tell me? Well-" he leaned in closer his tone calm but full of menace, "then I'm not gonna kill you, no that'd be too easy - I'll still watch you writhe like the worm you are, but I can make it much," he pressed on the wound, "much, worse."

The quaking man grunted with the pain, and quailed under the intensity of the musketeer's stare. "Alright, alright! If I tell you, you won't hurt me no more?" he licked his lips nervously but continued after receiving an affirmative nod. "Philippe, he hired us … he knew there was gonna be a wagon goin to Calais, hoped it might be something good, y'know with it bein from the king n all."

Athos spoke up, coming closer to stand alongside Porthos, "How did he know that, where did he get his information?"

The dying man shrugged, "I dont know, he never told us nothin like that."

Athos sighed, it would seem that answers led to more questions.

"Do you have a base?" D'Artagnan had also stepped forwards to flank his brother.

"Y-yeah, an old ruin,"

"Where!?" Porthos demanded with a little shake when no answer was immediately forthcoming.

"Philippe who?" Athos had asked at the same time.

"Don't - don't know … said we ad to call him lord," his eyes rolled to look back at Porthos, his answer slurred from pain and exhaustion. Meanwhile Athos folded his arms, his mind trying to piece together what little evidence they had.

"What did he look like this Philippe, did he have a crest or a standard?"

"Black beard, tall … ad a scar here," he drew a line down his cheek before coughing and wincing with the pain, "he had this fancy seal... a rose with a snake," another cough and whimper of pain, "please - you promised!"

The three musketeers looked at one another, Porthos pursed his lips - there was more they could learn, but Athos gave him _that_ look.

"Fine!" stepping back with a sigh, he let the man drop unceremoniously to the ground and ignored the look of rebuke from Athos, choosing instead to go and stand back by the trees, his thoughts on where Aramis was now and what might be happening to him. His two brother's were still talking with the doomed man, no doubt offering words of comfort - not that he deserved them. A single gunshot tore the air and it didnt take long for Athos and D'Artagnan to steal up beside him.

"A little unnecessary mon ami," Porthos shrugged not caring what Athos thought, that man was part of the group that took Aramis - he deserved everything he got.

"So, when do we leave?"

D'Artagnan and Athos exchanged a look, "Porthos.."

"This is Aramis - we cant leave him!" His face was one of both shock and hurt betrayal.

"Porthos we have a duty to the king, we cannot abandon Lumiere here alone with the cart-"

"So you would have us abandon Aramis instead!?"

"We must take the cart to the nearest village at least - there we can send for reinforcements, for both the cart and for Aramis,"

"And we're supposed to sit and twiddle our thumbs and wait for help to arrive?" Porthos snarled, eyes wild.

"No mon ami," Athos was quick to reassure him, "we will leave as soon as we've delivered Lumiere and the goods to the nearest village, I promise you …" Athos sighed, "...I love him too" he reminded his brother gently.

"As do I," D'Artagnan agreed, for they were brothers as well as comrades and no one intended to give up on him.

Porthos sighed, worrying his lip between his teeth as he stared down at the floor before broad shoulders sagged when he nodded his assent; it made sense, he just didnt like it. Both Athos and D'Artagnan clasped him on the shoulder affectionately before walking back to Lumiere who had already put the body of Abel onto the front seat of the wagon with Dart's help earlier. Looking one last time at the trees Porthos straightened, "I _will_ find you Aramis … I swear it!,"

Turning on his heel he hurried back to his brothers; the sooner they were on their way the sooner they could hunt for Aramis


End file.
